


Wicked Games

by Sonderxxx



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clexa, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Magic, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Power Play, Rival Sex, Rivalry, Sex Toys, Smut, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonderxxx/pseuds/Sonderxxx
Summary: Lexa steps as close to Clarke as she can now, noting the way the shield recedes to let her but still blocks her from coming too near. “I have to touch you to do this, Clarke. You’re going to have to lower your shield.”“Mm, I’m sure you can get creative.” Clarke’s voice is a low rasp that Lexa can feel the reverberations of deep inside, lingering somewhere between her legs.“I’m not sure you could handle me getting creative with you.”The ghost of a smirk is overshadowed by the dark hunger on Clarke’s face as she looks at Lexa with hooded eyes. “Try me.”
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 3
Kudos: 137





	Wicked Games

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like context on this scene, check out the end notes. If you do not want spoilers just read on.

“You know, you could at least make it more interesting. Sexual torture would be more fun. For both of us.”

Lexa ignores the stirring in her gut that the words and the way Clakre looks at her as she says them puts in her. “The point isn’t for you to have fun. You need to tell me what you know.”

“Yeah but there are better ways of loosening someone’s tongue, don’t you think? Or is it true what they say?”

Lexa deadpans her. Of course Clarke continues anyway. 

“The Commander really is all work and no play.”

Lexa rolls her eyes. “That sounded like a bad film line. Now who’s the cliche?” 

“Come on. Don’t tell me you haven't considered it.” Clarke watches her closely, blue eyes far too knowing for Lexa’s comfort. “I’m right here, tied up and spread out— you haven’t thought about touching me? About being inside me?”

Lexa hates that she can’t quite hide the swallow she takes in time. She cuts her gaze away, ignoring the smug insistence that seems to emanate from Clarke with every bit the substance as her shield. 

“It wasn’t that long ago that you were. What did you have, two fingers in me? It’s been a while. I can’t quite remember. Did you even make me come?” Clarke laughs lightly when Lexa’s eyes flash onto her, jaw clenched tightly. Lexa tries to reign it in, tries not to let Clarke under her skin. 

It’s just like work all over again. Clarke got under her skin then, too. That was the whole problem, the entire ordeal that led to Lexa asking her out. If Lexa wasn’t such a goddamn lesbian, her life would be so much simpler.

“I think we both felt the evidence of that,” says Lexa coolly. 

“Maybe you should remind me.”

She notices the way Clarke is watching her. Perhaps thinking about the last time Lexa was inside her. Of course Clarke would stoop so low. At best she expects Lexa to fall prey, get close enough for her to snap her jaws. At the least she’ll annoy Lexa and get under her skin, cause her to get sloppy. 

Neither is going to happen. She’s going to play this game just as much, then. (She resolutely ignores the thrill that rockets up her body at the idea.) 

“At least there’s something to remind you of,” Lexa says mildly, tilting her head. “If I recall correctly, one of us had an orgasm. One of us did not. If someone’s skills are in doubt, they aren’t mine.”

Clarke’s eyes narrow. “Hm. Bad news for you. Not sure about that raincheck now.”

Lexa hums back. “It’s a shame.”

“It is.” Blue eyes are as sharp as they are dark now. “It really is. I know what it’s like to be fucked by you. You missed out on the chance. Sucks for you.”

Air escapes Lexa’s nose in an expulsion of amusement. “We didn’t _fuck_ , Clarke. Not properly. You think I’d fuck a human the same way? Clearly you’ve never slept with your own kind. You have no idea.”

Clarke’s eyes darken, but this time it seems more in anger. “I have fucked Others before, for your information. It’s not a big enough difference to leave me wondering. _You_ have no idea. ”

“If they fucked you properly, you wouldn’t be arguing.” Lexa smirks at the way Clarke glowers at her, but the smirk is quickly wiped away at Clarke’s next words. 

“Maybe if you fucked me properly, you wouldn’t be wondering either. If you’re going to bore me you might as well do it fucking me.”

The ache in Lexa increases tenfold. She ignores it, again. “I already told you. Sexual torture? Not on the menu.”

“I’m not telling you anything either way. If I’m stuck here? If I’m fucked either way? I might as well be getting actually fucked.” Clarke raises a brow. “Maybe this time I won’t even have to fake an orgasm to get you to leave.”

She’s satisfied now, smirking as Lexa bares her teeth, nearly snarling at her. 

“Interesting how even a supposed fake orgasm had you spilling all over my hand, Clarke.”

Clarke’s smirk doesn’t fade. “It’s a strange world filled with all sorts of magic. Why don’t you prove it wasn’t fake? Unless you don’t think you can.”

You know what? Clarke is right. If they’re stuck here, they might as well make use of their time.

“You really want to try it that way? Fine.”

Lexa lifts a hand, and for a moment Clarke’s expression falters, giving way to confusion as Lexa just stands there with her arm raised. There’s distant clattering upstairs, and then an object comes whizzing down the stairs and straight into Lexa’s open hand. The confusion wipes clean from Clarke’s face, replaced by an incredulous intensity.

“How is this?” Lexa asks, looking just as closely at Clarke as she steps near her, holding the dildo out for Clarke to see. “Satisfactory?”

Clarke doesn’t answer. She’s finally silent, brow knit, gaze dark where it flits between Lexa’s eyes and the toy in her hand. Lexa has no idea what she’s thinking, but she has a feeling. 

She steps as close to Clarke as she can now, noting the way the shield recedes to let her but still blocks her from coming too near. “I have to touch you to do this, Clarke. You’re going to have to lower your shield.”

“Mm, I’m sure you can get creative.” Clarke’s voice is a low rasp that Lexa can feel the reverberations of deep inside, lingering somewhere between her legs. 

“I’m not sure you could handle me getting creative with you.”

The ghost of a smirk is overshadowed by the dark hunger on Clarke’s face as she looks at Lexa with hooded eyes. “Try me.”

 _God._ Satisfaction and hunger surge within Lexa, burning deep in the pit of her stomach. _Fine._

Lexa steps back. Watches. Lifts a hand, twitches two fingers. The dildo rises into the air, drifting to the left, until it hovers just before Clarke’s spread legs. 

“Can you handle it?” 

Clarke doesn’t answer, eyes locked on the toy. Lexa’s stomach swirls at the sight of a pink tongue darting out to wet Clarke’s lips. She crooks her fingers so the dildo rises up, Clarke’s chin lifting with it, and holds it before her mouth.

“You can test it first.”

Despite the nonchalance Clarke is still aiming for, Lexa can see it— watches her closely as she tries to control her own breathing, a progressively difficult thing to do when she can see how dark Clarke’s eyes are. She’s affected. For a moment, there’s only the quiet hush of Clarke’s quickened breathing and Lexa’s blood rushing in her ears. 

Clarke opens her mouth and already has her tongue sliding over the tip of the dildo when Lexa’s stomach clenches and she curls her fingers, moving it into her mouth. Curls them more, until they’re nearly vertical, and Clarke’s throat bulges but she doesn’t gag once. Unfurls her fingers and furls them again, three times, watching hungrily as the dildo slides in and out of the pretty pink lips wrapped around it before she draws it back with a wet pop. It glistens with saliva in the low light.

It seems to take Clarke a moment to drag her gaze away from it. She looks at Lexa with eyes so dark they appear black, lids heavy and low. Lexa arches a brow.

“So?” Clarke doesn’t answer in favor of licking her lips again, eyes drifting to the dildo once more. Lexa struggles to tamp down the excitement and impatience boiling in her gut as she steps forward, only a foot away from Clarke now. “Can you handle it?”

Clarke’s answer is in the subtle shake of her thighs, as though she’s trying to spread them even more. Lexa nods slowly. 

“Okay. If you want me to stop, just tell me, and I will.”

“Will you?” challenges Clarke. Despite the visible arousal she shows, there’s something dark in her eyes that speaks of hesitation, of resentment. This is, after all, between the Commander and Wanheda. 

But what Clarke has yet to learn is that their identities are closely entwined. Lexa and the Commander are not separate: they’re the same beings. Just like Clarke is Wanheda and Wanheda is Clarke. It would be easier to claim a distinction— but inaccurate. Cowardly.

Clarke will learn that, in time. Just like Lexa did.

“Always.” Lexa holds her gaze, eyes fierce and steady, when Clarke stills, head tilting curiously at how Lexa’s seemingly broken whatever charade they have going on. “I would sooner kill you than touch you without consent.”

“Because that makes sense.”

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

Lexa’s gaze bores into her. “Kill me? Rid yourself of an enemy?”

Clarke doesn’t hesitate. She nods.

“And would you touch me without my permission?”

No hesitation here either. “No. I’m not...that’s not who I am.”

“Me either.” Lexa steps closer, leans forward, not quite touching Clarke’s skin though her whisper curls into Clarke’s ear. “So anytime, if you want me to stop, just say, and I will. Now, do you want me to fuck you?”

She burns with satisfaction at the tiny noise that gets caught in Clarke’s throat; a growl or a whimper, Lexa isn’t sure which. It doesn’t matter because right now, she’s in control. Right now, Clarke’s looking at her with pupil-blown eyes and a body trembling with desire, and Lexa holds all the power.

And it makes her achingly, impossibly wet.

Clarke gives her a tiny, breathless nod and Lexa lowers her fingers so the dildo trails down. It gravitates between Clarke’s spread thighs and remains floating there, quivering the same way Lexa’s hands do as she reaches out to place them on Clarke’s hips. She moves her head again, tip of her nose brushing the line of Clarke’s jaw, the curve of her neck and the jut of her collarbones. She absorbs every quiet ragged intake of breath Clarke makes as she presses her lips to her skin. Her finger heats as she hardens her nail and lightly presses the tip to the center of Clarke’s chest, and Lexa’s heart gallops in her ears, heat flooding her body when Clarke lets slip the tiniest gasp as Lexa traces her finger down in one slow, steady line, her nail cutting through the fabric like butter, revealing tantalizing glimpses of skin as it falls apart.

“Fuck.” The world slips from Lexa’s lips before she can stop it, low and full of strained reverence, and Lexa can’t even find it in herself to be angry because watching the torn tank fall away from Clarke’s chest to reveal full breasts clad in a plain black bra is...distracting, to say the least. They’re warm and heavy in Lexa’s hands when she cups them, biting her approval into the bruised skin of Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke gives another strangled groan as Lexa’s thumbs sweep over nipples stiff even through the fabric. She breathes out something like relief when Lexa slices her nail through the straps to cut them loose before reaching around Clarke’s back to undo the band. She lets the bra drop to the floor and has to actually take a moment just to stand there, dizzy as she is at seeing Clarke’s bare breasts in her hands, at watching her puckered nipples further harden as she gently rubs them. Clarke’s breathing is unashamedly haggard now, and the ropes strain as she arches into Lexa’s touch.

Lexa’s hands drop back down to her hips again, and her thumbs warm as she hooks them into the waistband and cuts her nail through the denim. She uses one hand to peel a side down while her other curves around to cup Clarke between her legs, heat blistering her palm. She presses another biting kiss to Clarke’s shoulder, soothes the sting with her tongue when Clarke hisses.

Cleanly cut fabric pools at Lexa’s feet as it falls away and Clarke remains spread out before her, entirely naked now. Lexa doesn’t intend to give her the satisfaction of a lingering look, but she can’t help it; she leans back just to drink her in. It’s infuriating, really. If she just looked like Lexa imagined Wanheda...wild, matted red hair and dirty skin...perhaps there wouldn’t be so much arousal pulsing through her, insistent and demanding attention. She never would have imagined that _this_ was Wanheda: a perfect hourglass figure, smooth skin, perfectly pink lips, and those lovely blue eyes. Blonde hair falling down her shoulders in soft waves. She’s undeniably beautiful. And Lexa is undeniably attracted to her.

She doesn’t make her wait for it; she presses one last soft kiss to Clarke’s chest before raising her hand. Lifts her fingers and the dildo slides upward, turning at a vertical angle. Observes every twitch of Clarke’s body, the hunger rolling off her in waves as the dildo slowly dips down, sliding through her folds; Clarke’s body jumps, hips twitching, as it drags against her clit. Lexa’s eyes flutter shut— she doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to miss a thing, but she can just imagine the sensations, can imagine the give of pressure against the dildo as it glides through wet folds and presses against the stiff bump of Clarke’s clit and sinks, ever so slightly, into the soaked heat at her core. Her eyes crack open at half mast to see Clarke in the same situation, lashes fluttering, as the dildo pushes into her by tiny increments. Lexa crooks her fingers, lifting her hand, and it sinks in further.

“God,” breathes Clarke, almost inaudible as she tips her head back, muscles flexing as she winds her wrists around the rope so she can grip it and hold tight.

Lexa forces herself to stand tall and unaffected, to hide the fact that all she wants is to step forward to reach for Clarke— to touch, to kiss, to taste her. She’s supposed to hate her. She _does_ hate her. This is supposed to be punishment— to make her feel good and then take it all away, to let her know that yes, Lexa’s going to let her live but Clarke will have to live with _this_ forever— the knowledge that her greatest enemy had her like this, that everyone she ever has after her will be unsatisfying, that she’ll always, always have Lexa in her head.

Instead Lexa is trembling. Biting her lip to distract herself from the heat churning through her body, the powerful pull deep in her belly that pulsates between her legs. She’s surrounded by everything Clarke— the dizzying smell of her arousal, the sight of her spread out before her, breasts juddering with each heaving breath, the obscenely wet sounds as the dildo slowly impales her before drawing out and doing it all over again. It’s enough to have Lexa shifting where she stands, desperate for some relief— and friction.

She continues undulating her fingers in the air, curling them on every other stroke to change the angle of the dildo. Clarke's biting her lip, clearly trying not to vocalize her pleasure, but Lexa's always loved the opportunity to rise to a challenge- they're so rare, after all.

"How does it feel?" she murmurs, stepping close to Clarke again, enough to feel the heat of her body and see the sweat shimmering on her skin. "To be fucked like this?" She flattens her fingers out, slowly, drawing the dildo out with a wet squelch that drags a whimper out of Clarke's throat. "To be fucked by me?" Pulls her fingers in quickly, slamming the toy back inside Clarke. Clarke finally moans and Lexa breathes in deeply, her clit throbbing. "No one else can fuck you like this." Taps her fingers, dildo moving in shallow, rapid thrusts that cause Clarke's hips to jog to keep up with. "No one can fuck you like _me_."

Lexa shouldn't touch her. She had no intentions to. But now she stands right before her, the smell of her arousal filling her nose and the sounds of the dildo sliding in and out of her ringing in her ears, and there's a dull red flush all over Clarke's bare skin and her golden hair is loose and as wild as her eyes as she throws her head back and rolls her body as best she can with her limbs roped up, and Lexa doesn't want to fight it. 

She crowds in close to her again, nose brushing heated skin, lips ghosting over the hollow of her throat. She scrapes her teeth across her collar bone and presses a soft kiss to the side of her neck. Releases a sharp breath through her nostrils when Clarke’s breath hitches after she bites down. She sucks over her pulse point as one hand crawls up Clarke’s body while the other continues to undulate in the air in a steady rhythm. 

Lexa won’t lie to herself. Clarke is so beautiful it almost hurts to look at her. Even with her shield down, she’s still glowing, her energy still hot and crackling, sparking like a livewire that might shock Lexa if she lingers too long. She watches, entranced, the effects of her touch ripple over Clarke’s body. The flex of muscles beneath her fingertips as she skates over her stomach. The heaving of her breath as she clatters over each notch of her ribs. The way Clarke moans when one finger circles the soft knots of her areola, gently bumping against a nipple that doesn’t need to be coaxed to rise to a stiff peak. Can’t resist bending down to close her mouth over it, unconsciously curling her fingers as she sucks and pushing the toy higher inside Clarke, who sways in the air as she cries out.

“More,” Clarke pants. Lexa finds herself oddly satisfied by the fury behind the desperation coloring Clarke’s tone, giving it weight. As such, she obliges. Lifting a third finger to join the others, spreading them wide to enlarge the dildo and watching with rapture the relief and mindless pleasure rippling across Clarke’s face as it swells inside her, stretching her, filling her. Her mouth hangs open as Lexa crooks her fingers to slowly inch the dildo out...and then pushes it right back in. Clarke’s teeth snag her lower lip and Lexa studies the give of it, aching with want.

 _Don’t kiss her,_ she tells herself. Fucking her to prove a point is one thing. Kissing isn’t necessary. 

She kisses her.

Lifts her free hand up to cup the back of Clarke’s sweaty neck and pulls her head up to press their mouths together. Loses herself in soft lips that part beneath hers at once. Feels her stomach drop when Clarke’s tongue sweeps into her mouth. She tastes dangerous; like everything Lexa should stay away from. This isn’t a pretty girl she can get lost in. This is Clarke Griffin. This is Wanheda. Wanheda is an excellent kisser.

A filthy kisser, all tongue and bite that’s specifically designed to make Lexa weak in the knees as she imagines how incredible that mouth would feel situated between her legs. Clarke flexes against her ropes again and Lexa’s tempted to untie them. She wants so much more than this is supposed to be— wants Clarke writhing beneath her, on top of her, around her, inside her. Wants to fuck her with her mouth and then her fingers, magic be damned. Wants Clarke sitting on her face and riding her through the floor.

She can’t do that. 

“Fuck, fuck,” gasps Clarke, body shuddering violently. Lexa closes her eyes, fingers pulsating the same way Clarke’s cunt pulsates around the dildo. She moves her entire arm, three fingers rolling, curling them in tightly on every other thrust, and Clarke cries out with each curl as the dildo presses against her inner wall. Lexa breathes out a curse and buries it in the crook of Clarke’s neck, sucking bruises into her skin. Her free hand trails down to grip Clarke’s behind, squeezing firm, plump flesh in her hand and quietly noting the way Clarke’s gasps turn higher pitched when her fingers press in, deeply enough to leave imprints. 

“Oh, God,” groans Clarke, head falling back and body seeming to rise up, chest puffing out as her stomach flattens, going silent as she holds her breath—

And then she cries out in protest, lifting her head to level Lexa with frantic, clouded eyes, expression twisted with despair, when with a twitch of Lexa’s fingers, the dildo pulls out.

“You come when I say you do,” Lexa tells her, observing her emotionlessly, wondering if she’s managing to hide the desire burning inside. Twitches her fingers again so the dildo slides back in with little resistance. 

“Fuck you,” Clarke manages to say, words bit off with a grunt that trails into a groan as the dildo is pulled out and pushed in again.

“Later. It’s my turn right now.” 

Lexa waits until Clarke is shaking and her breath is sobbing out, waits until she’s dripping onto the floor, waits until she’s almost mindless, eyes wheeling and tearing up, before she finally lets her go. She takes a step back for this— wants to watch her, wants her to know Lexa can make her come without even having to touch her. 

She stands with at least two feet between them, one arm rising and falling in midair, wrist bent and fingers crooked, curling and thrusting. The dildo pounds into Clarke with enough force to have her swaying on the ropes, hips jerking and body arching. Lexa’s fingers burn with warmth, her skin puckered and wrinkled though her hands are as dry as a bone save for the flush of her palms. She wrenches the dildo out, shoves it back again even when Clarke’s cunt pulsates, muscles constricting, clinging onto it tightly; even when she wails as the orgasm rips through her, cum streaking down her quaking thighs and splattering the floor below in a puddle that grows when Lexa keeps at it— makes her come again, and again, until Clarke’s moans have turned to harsh sobs even as she demands more.

Somewhere after the fourth orgasm, Clarke jerks her head and whimpers out a “Stop, I can’t—” and Lexa ceases at once. 

The room smells of sex. It’s enough to have Lexa’s head spinning, but she does her best to ignore it and maintain her composure as she walks forward. 

“Are you okay to remove it?” she asks quietly.

Clarke exhales a ragged sigh, and gives an infinitesimal nod. She hisses out a breath when Lexa gently uncurls her fingers and slowly, slowly lowers them. It takes a moment, Clarke’s muscles greedily clutching at the dildo, but eventually it slides out with a slurp and falls to the puddle on the floor with a wet flop.

Lexa gives her a moment to recover, catching her breath as the twitches of her body gradually lessen. “I suppose we’ve finally found something you’re good at,” she says softly. “Coming for me.”

Clarke levels her with a heavy-lidded stare, breathless and flushed, body sagging with exhaustion but eyes gleaming with conviction.

“Untie me,” she orders.

Lexa pauses, turning to look at Clarke, head tilted, clasping her hands behind her back to hide how they shake. Can’t help but shift her weight on her legs, too filled with restless want to stand still. “And why would I do that?”

Clarke’s brow draws together, mouth downturning. She didn’t like that. “You said I’d get my turn.”

Lexa expels a soft huff of breath out of her nostrils, lips curving sardonically. “You actually think I’d let you free?”

Silence for a moment, as Clarke processes what Lexa said, visible fury rippling across her face. Her eyes are still dark with want and though Clarke is spread eagle suspended stark naked in the air right now, Lexa is the one who feels naked beneath her knowing gaze.

“Don’t act like you aren’t wet right now,” says Clarke, voice pitched low; Lexa can feel the rasp of it crawling down her spine, gravitating toward the heat that rages in the pit of her stomach and between her legs. “I see how you look at me. How does it make you feel, seeing me like this?” Her head rolls on her neck as she loftily tilts, looking up at Lexa beneath thick lashes. “Spread out for you. Naked. Bare. Soaked.”

Lexa’s jaw tics but she doesn’t let herself look away. She prays she’s coming across as collected because her body feels like it's seconds from erupting into fire. “I am not blind, Clarke. You are attractive.” She steps forward, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her body— or perhaps for Clarke to feel the heat coming off her. “And yes, I am wet.” Leans forward, voice dropping, noting with a thrill how Clarke’s eyes flutter down, gaze fixed on Lexa’s lips. “Drenched, even. And I do plan on doing something about it.” She steps back abruptly, smirking slightly at the way Clarke blinks rapidly. “But I can take care of it myself.”

“Seriously?” snaps Clarke, jaw set and teeth clenched. Her limbs strain against the ropes. “You’d rather fucking finger yourself than let me have my turn?”

“Who said anything about fingering myself?” Amused, Lexa lifts a hand, crooks a finger. The dildo rises off the floor, dripping. Clarke gapes for a split second before appearing to remember herself, narrowing her stony gaze. 

“If you want to fuck yourself, be my guest. It won’t compare with what I could do to you.”

“Maybe so,” Lexa says, unconcerned as she shrugs and takes a step back. “But I know where you are if I change my mind. It isn’t as if you’re going anywhere, is it?” Clarke’s lips twist in a snarl, and Lexa can’t quite hide her satisfied smile. “Here, I’ll leave this little reminder for you. I have other toys.” The dildo falls back to the floor with another wet flop, and Lexa turns on her heel. She hopes her shaky impatience isn’t too obvious as she tosses a vague wave of dismissal over her shoulder as she heads for the staircase. “I’ll bring you some food in an hour or two.” Or three. 

If Lexa weren’t so distracted, so overcome with insistent desire propelling her to hurry upstairs as fast as possible, she might have looked back. She might have noticed the way the rage and anguish on Clarke’s face gave way when she looked up with stunned disbelief at her left wrist. She might have noticed the rope was far looser than it should be, and she certainly would have noticed the triumph gleaming on Clarke’s face.

Clarke was right, though, Lexa thinks bitterly as she fucks herself to sleep. This just doesn’t compare.

* * *

It takes what feels like a very long time for Clarke to finally free herself.

After managing to free a wrist (rubbed raw from her efforts), she clumsily unties herself and only just manages to catch herself as she lands. She staggers, legs shaking beneath her so violently it nearly brings her to the floor. God, every part of her aches. She takes a few shaky steps to the door, pausing to shut her eyes and lick her lips, brow momentarily creasing and whimper stuck clawing at her throat as her thighs rubbing together puts fleeting pressure on her clit that’s still swollen and tender. 

_That fucking cunt_ , she thinks furiously about Lexa. She could kill her. She wonders what she’s doing right now— Is she still here, upstairs? Clarke can’t imagine she’d have left. Is she actually fucking herself? It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed since Lexa left her down here. At least a couple hours, Clarke would wager. She’s certain it wouldn’t take Lexa that long. 

Rage still pulses through her at this entire situation. Honestly? It’s not even the fact that Clarke was captured, imprisoned, and tortured that pisses her off the most. It’s that this is the second time— _the second fucking time_ — Lexa has smugly enjoyed the upper hand and left before Clarke could get a chance to blow her mind (not like she _cares_ about making her feel good, Clarke stubbornly tells herself as she manages another couple steps toward the stairs, but it’s a matter of _principal_. It’s about _respect_ ).

Jaw and shoulders set, Clarke twists round to spy the mess still on the floor below where she’d been tied up. The floor gleams with the puddle and there, in the center of it all, lay the dildo. Clarke walks over to it, legs steadier with each step as the numbness is finally walked out of them. She snatches the toy off the floor and spins on her heel, the faint golden glow of her shield lighting up the darkness of the basement, and crosses the room to march up the staircase. The room is plunged into darkness again when she shifts into nothingness, light flickering away as she turns invisible a split second before opening the basement door.

This place is cold and empty, and Clarke wonders if Lexa lives here. Surely not; it doesn’t look lived in. More likely this functions as some sort of lair. She nearly snorts at the thought. Her head’s no longer spinning at the reveal of the Commander’s true identity. (It is spinning a bit at the fact that Clarke was fucked by her, though). 

It takes another flight of stairs to find her, because of course it does. Most of the rooms here are as empty and untouched as the rest of the house, but the room at the far end is open, door cracked. It’s dark in there as Clarke slips in, but she can see from the light leaking through the cracks in the window blinds that Lexa’s sprawled out in bed, fast asleep. Even when Clarke climbs onto the bed, slow and wary, Lexa does not stir or do much of anything except sigh in her sleep.

She must have really worn herself out. Clarke suspects Lexa may not have slept in over forty eight hours— since the moment she attacked her in Tondc. But she likes to think the majority of the reason Lexa is so exhausted is the hand currently sticking half out her pants. Clarke’s lips curl into a half smirk, satisfied. So Lexa was so affected she really did have to take care of herself (Damn right). There’s a simmering low in the pit of Clarke’s stomach, and it’s not anger. Part of her chastises herself for feeling this way right now, for this person, especially after the four orgasms she had not too long ago, but she’s not particularly surprised (I mean, God. Just _look_ at her).

Clarke hovers over her, and only takes a beat (one heartbeat) to make the decision. She dips down, brushes her lips along the sharp line of Lexa’s jaw. Tongue slipping out to taste the salt of her skin, still flushed and warm. She kisses every inch of skin from collarbone to chin, and it still takes a minute for Lexa to register it. She wakes slowly, frowning before blearily cracking open her eyes, and then her frown deepens even more.

Clarke can imagine how disconcerting this must be. To wake to the feeling of someone atop you, kissing and touching, but you look and no one’s there. She can tell, by the way Lexa twitches a hand, she’s searching for something to grasp with her powers, blood or body, but Clarke’s shield is up (and she has to work hard to make a conscious effort to keep it up. The taste of Lexa’s skin, the feel of her arching beneath her, the tiny shudders of breath— it’s all very distracting).

“Clarke,” Lexa breathes, lashes fluttering even as her brow furrows in frustration. “You- how the fuck did you-”

“You fucked me and left,” Clarke murmurs directly into her ear before scraping her teeth along the shell; hand gliding up and down the slender curve of Lexa’s torso and hip.

Lexa gives a huff that’s not quite as derisive as it should be when it’s catching on a gasp and she’s turning her head to give Clarke more access to kiss her way down her neck.

“You’ve been fucking me for years by encroaching on my territory.”

“Mmm.” Clarke leans back as she shifts into visibility; watches the moment Lexa’s eyes focus on her, how her pupils eat away the green as they take in the sight of Clarke naked and spread out above her. Clarke bends down again, ghosting a kiss over Lexa’s ear before confessing, “And it felt so good every time.”

Clarke thought she was ready for it, but Lexa is faster and stronger than she gave her credit for. The words have barely left Clarke’s lips when Lexa’s flipping them over with a snarl. Clarke on her back in the next second, narrow hips nestled between the meat of her thighs before Lexa pulls herself up onto all fours, knees at the sides of Clarke’s waist. Clarke doesn’t betray her surprise, or her disdain for being beneath her (there are worse places to be, honestly). She just lifts her arms and stretches, unfurling like a cat, the arch of her back pushing her bare breasts on full display right before Lexa’s face. It does what she anticipated and Lexa falls silent at once, gaze zeroing in with such predictability it’s almost laughable.

“So how good did you make yourself feel?” Clarke asks softly, noting the quickening of Lexa’s breath as she reaches out, traces her hand down her torso. Lexa’s wearing the same clothes she wore last night, a very nice leather jacket and a plain cotton t-shirt. It’s unfair she’s seen Clarke naked— has fucked her twice now, while Clarke hasn’t had a single chance to touch her. That’s Lexa’s loss, though. “When you touched yourself.”

“Nowhere near as good as it felt for you when I touched you, I’m sure.”

“And whose fault is that?” Clarke watches her from beneath her lashes as she slips her hand up the hem of Lexa’s shirt, splaying her fingers out over the smooth taut skin of Lexa’s waist. She’s barely brushed over the hard bump of Lexa’s nipple, straining against the tight fabric of her bra, when Lexa takes a sharp intake of breath and her hand jumps up to grab Clarke’s wrist.

Clarke stills, watching her with half-lidded eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

Lexa stares at her in return. “I should.”

“But you don’t.”

A beat. “No.”

Clarke considers her. Slowly licks her lips and twists her wrist in Lexa’s grasp, placing her hand over Lexa’s and leading her to her own waistband. Desire rushes in Clarke’s veins, pools between her legs as she guides their hands into Lexa’s pants and applies pressure to Lexa’s fingers, pushing her into her own wetness.

“Do you want to come?”

Lexa takes in a ragged breath as they press in more, hips tipping toward the touch. But then she’s drawing out, and despite the overwhelming urge to feel exactly what made Lexa’s fingers so wet, Clarke follows suit and withdraws too.

But Lexa isn’t done, Clarke realizes, when Lexa’s gaze makes a slow, heated pass down her body, lingering on her breasts. 

Clarke cranes her head up, kisses Lexa’s throat. “Tell me what you do want.”

It takes Lexa a moment to answer, and when she does, her voice is rough. “I want to watch you.”

Heat rushes to the apex of Clarke’s thighs, and she stares at Lexa with dawning realization curling up a corner of her mouth. Oh. That could easily be arranged.

This time Lexa’s the unprepared one as Clarke shifts, hooking a leg behind her back and rolling them in one smooth movement. Lexa just looks up at her, eagerness glinting in her wide, dark eyes. She raises her arms to help when Clarke shoves her jacket off her shoulders and strips her t-shirt away, followed quickly by her bra. Her pants are next, and all too soon Lexa lay sprawled out before her, utterly naked. Gorgeous. Clarke’s mouth goes dry, all moisture seeming to gravitate south where she’s actually started to drip onto Lexa now. Which Lexa has clearly noticed if the way she’s looking at Clarke with glazed eyes is any indication, her plump bottom lip caught between her teeth. Clarke leans forward to free it and capture it between her own, suckling as she grinds against Lexa, swallowing the sharp gasps she tips into her mouth.

“Touch me,” she orders, and the Commander is happy to comply. 

Clarke shudders as Lexa cups her breasts in her hands, thumbs sweeping around and around, narrowing into tight little flicks over her nipples. Each touch sends pleasure crackling like electricity from the points of contact, streaking down to the heavy ache settled deep in her stomach and between her legs. She wants fucked again. Now. But she doesn’t want Lexa in control.

Lexa doesn’t even notice Clarke reaching for the dildo that lay on the other side of the mattress, not until Clarke is drawing back and brings it over to tap against Lexa’s stomach. Clarke waits until Lexa looks back up to meet her eyes before she arches a brow at her and moves again.

Lexa watches, mouth open and chest heaving, as Clarke splits her thighs and positions the same dildo between them. They both seem to hold their breath as Clarke slowly, slowly begins to sink down on it. Lexa grips Clarke’s hips, fingers leaving white indentions one by one as the toy is incrementally swallowed up, the quiet wet sounds the only thing breaking the silence.

And then she starts to move.

A lazy, deliberate sort of rocking, the base of the dildo pressed into Lexa’s mound as though she were wearing a strap. The bed creaks ominously as Clarke grinds, mouth falling open with a huff as the toy shifts within her, nestled deep inside. It’s not enough, and Clarke tries to compensate by rocking harder, lifting herself up and falling back down on it. Lexa pushes her hips forward to help provide a little extra weight, and each time she pushes the tip of the toy rubs against this spot right on Clarke’s inner walls, a spot she’s intimately familiar with and also tragically unacquainted with of late, but Lexa seems to have no trouble finding it even with only her hips doing the work. When Clarke feels a knuckle brush against the inside of her thigh, she looks down and realizes Lexa’s holding the dildo— and that perhaps she’s doing something to help the toy find that spot inside her after all. 

Which, what the fuck. She should be aggravated by the fact that Lexa is using her powers on her and annoyed by the presumption that Lexa knew enough to find that in an area she’d only explored once before, but here they are. Clarke’s breath catches, biting off into a low moan when the toy tips up against her again, and Lexa’s hand on her waist flexes, digging in sharply; a moment later that pressure is gone, and Clarke’s moan shifts into a whine when a hand cups her breast, massaging it before a finger and a thumb come together in the center.

“Oh, fuck.”

Clarke’s eyes slam shut, teeth digging into her lip hard enough to bruise as her body tightens, her clit throbs and her cunt gushes. Her shield flickers, and perhaps if she had the wherewithal she’d notice Lexa wasn’t taking advantage of it, too invested in this inevitable outcome. An outcome approaching far quicker than Clarke was prepared for.

“Oh my God, fuck, I’m— I’m going to—” 

She trails into an unintelligible whine before her breath catches, everything catches and freezes and goes still except for Lexa beneath her. One hand still on her breast, pulling and squeezing her nipple; the other still on the dildo, and the dildo continues to move despite the fact that Clarke has frozen atop it. Just small movements, a come hither twitch that rubs against her inner walls.

That’s all it takes.

She comes with a groan, shuddering atop Lexa violently enough to shake them both, the room flashing as her shield flickers on and off before fizzing into a muted glow. Clarke slumps atop Lexa, face buried in the side of her neck where a pulse pounds and nudges Clarke’s nose. 

Fuck, that was _so good_. Pleasure rolls through her in waves, and it feels amazing. Incredible. Almost enough to soften her toward Lexa.

Almost, but not quite.

“Your turn,” she manages breathlessly, pushing herself up again. Lexa looks at her with raised brows, as though surprised— or desperate, considering the way she’s so tight and tense beneath her. 

Clarke shifts atop her body; Lexa removes her hand but the dildo stays in. Clarke is clenching onto it too tightly to bother pulling it out anyway, so she ignores it for now in favor of shuffling over until she’s half draped over the side of Lexa’s body, and can slip her right hand where Lexa needs her most. 

“So wet,” Clarke murmurs, and it’s not a lie; Lexa is absolutely soaked, drenching her fingers as she explores her soft folds, swollen with need. “How do you want it?” She bends down, licks a stripe up her neck. “You want me inside you?” She takes the way Lexa’s eyes flutter as a yes.

There’s zero resistance as she pushes two fingers inside her. Lexa presses her lips together, swallowing the low moan that slinks up her throat. Clarke draws it out freely a moment later, with her mouth latched to the straining column of Lexa’s throat, and the pad of her thump propped up against a stiff clit as she pumps her fingers inside her. Lexa is close already— so close. Body shaking, haggard gasps sucked into her lungs as she draws up, back bowing and legs quivering, cunt clenching and squeezing Clarke’s fingers. Clarke sits up but doesn’t stop the movement of her hand. Waits until Lexa’s right there on that edge, seconds away from being flung off. Then— she stops.

Lexa’s eyes fly open, brow creased and lips already forming her protests. Clarke just looks at her. Allows a split second for Lexa to recognize the rage burning in her eyes. And then she hits her, hard, fist rapping sharply against her skull, and knocks her clean out.

Clarke shakes her left hand to soothe the sting while she pulls her right free from inside Lexa, sloppy and wet. She blows out a breath, looking up to the ceiling and shuddering hard as she pulls the dildo out of herself, gingerly with her inner muscles holding it so greedily. She flops it down onto Lexa’s stomach and groans as she rolls off the bed and heaves herself to her feet, legs wobbling slightly beneath her. 

“God,” she mutters, face screwed up as she stretches and groans again. She’s not sure her body has ever simultaneously felt so good and so wrecked at the same time. Utterly sore from the fight and the fucking, and utterly bone-limp and pleasurably aching from the orgasms. Jesus. She’s not sure she’s ever come so hard in her life. She really doesn’t know if she wants to kill Lexa or shake her hand. As it is now, she looks down at her prone form and can’t help but lick her lips, because _damn_. She can't reconcile the images in her head. The Commander. Decked out in all black save for a red cape, hair in intricate braids, warpaint streaking down her face, exuding power as cold as her unblinking gray eyes. Lexa Woodward. Swallowed up in soft sweaters, hair loose and wavy, green eyes patient and warm. The fury that storms within her is overshadowed only by the _want_. The _need_. That, more than anything, is unsettling. 

Clarke finds Lexa’s clothes scattered around the room, plucking them up and slipping them on as she goes; they’re a bit long on her legs and tight on her chest, and the bra doesn’t fit at all. Just to be petty, she scoops up the leather jacket crumpled on the floor next to the bed and pulls it on. She dips into the bathroom for a moment to appraise herself. She’s a mess, but the red lipstick she steals off the bathroom counter helps. Especially when she writes _“fuck you!”_ in bold letters across the mirror before pocketing it and heading toward the bedroom door. 

It’s there that she pauses before her exit, gaze drawn to Lexa once more. She crosses the room to her. She takes the dildo off Lexa’s stomach and puts it into Lexa’s hand instead, wrapping long fingers around it as best she can with Lexa’s state of unconsciousness and then wiping the sticky wetness of her own fingers off on the sheets. 

“Those orgasms saved your life,” she murmurs, smirking as she presses a kiss to Lexa’s temple, sure to leave behind a perfectly visible lipstick stain. She leaves another on her throat. As a warning. Whispers, “If I see you again, you’re dead.”

Then she leaves, ignoring the inclination to look back one more time at her biggest enemy, naked and spent. 

* * *

Lexa wakes with a headache so unbearable it takes her a minute to place what the hell is going on. The last thing she remembers is Clarke riding her through the mattress, and then— 

And then— 

Fuck. 

_Fuck._

Lexa clenches her hands into fists, and that’s how she realizes she’s somehow holding the dildo in one of them— the dildo she’d last seen buried in Clarke’s cunt. She drops it, lets it roll off the bed to bounce onto the floor, and manages to haul herself up to sit on the edge of the mattress. She gingerly prods at the side of her head and her fingers come away black with her blood. Nostrils flaring and teeth grinding as she clenches her jaw, she closes her eyes and urges her blood to heal the injury. She drags herself to her feet next, sways unsteadily and has to reach out to lean against the nightstand so she doesn’t fall back again, and that’s how she notices the lack of her clothes on the floor— such as her leather jacket. When Lexa manages to stagger into the bathroom to better observe her injury, there’s a note waiting for her in the mirror, along with a bright red stamp right there on her face. Right there on her _throat_ , where Clarke easily could have slit it.

Lexa spits out a curse, slamming her fist against the counter, and spins around to storm back into her bedroom. Clarke could have killed her then— that much is obvious. That all of this serves as both a warning and a _fuck you._

Clarke literally left Lexa with her dick in her hand. 

And she took her favorite fucking jacket. 

Lexa’s going to _kill_ her— even if it’s the last thing she does.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the smut scene from my fic Devil Takes the Waltz. It's a long fic with a complex plot so I decided to post the smut separately for those who would prefer porn without plot. May it give you something to do in these dark times.
> 
> For context in this scene: Clexa are rivals and nemesis with superpowers. Lexa is known as the Commander and has telekinesis and the ability to manipulate blood. Clarke is known as Wanheda and has the ability to form a forcefield and turn invisible. They just fought one another after discovering their secret identities are dating, and Lexa has Clarke tied up in her lair.
> 
> If you liked this fic and want to read more of this universe, feel free to check out Devil Takes the Waltz.


End file.
